McGee's Lesson
by JMK758
Summary: Tim is called upon to teach someone a much needed lesson, but learns one as well.
1. A Favor

(Author's note: This story takes place sometime in my ongoing series of mysteries between 'Salarium' and 'Nosferatu', during Jimmy and Michelle Palmer's honeymoon.)

McGee's Lesson  
By JMK758  
Chapter One  
A Favor

Tim McGee inspects the credit and debit transactions of Marine Corps Lieutenant Jeffery Soto, glancing occasionally at his notes. The public activity of the man isn't noteworthy, he has about $3,000 in checking and over his lifetime has accumulated a little over $37,000 in combined savings and retirement funds.

It's the $862,941 in various accounts bearing false names, yet accessible only by Soto, that attracted NCIS' interest; that and Soto's assignment as an Armory officer at Camp Geiger.

It was, actually, his assignment at the Camp that brought him to the attention of his superiors, and thence to that of the Investigators. Arms that had been reported delivered for disassembling were unaccounted for during a spot check of the facility and so Lieutenant Soto is presently downstairs deep in consultation with Special Agent Gibbs.

As McGee works, his attention is diverted as he feels a presence nearby and turns, surprised to find the Agency's Chaplain standing beside him, particularly surprised since people very rarely enter this space. He's also surprised because today's Monday and she normally has her 'shift' here on Tuesdays; otherwise she's at her main job as Curate of Saint Mary the Virgin Church on New York Avenue.

She's attired, as usual, in black pants and pale blue back-button shirt with an attached two inch high collar of stiff white that encircles her throat. "Shav! Hi!" he exclaims, very happy to see her for any reason whatsoever.

He's the only one who calls the Reverend Siobhan O'Mallory by this name, perhaps as she's the only one who'd enter his 'space', and that's because of their very long relationship, a relationship they can indulge in without masks during their few moments of solitude. All his partners are away from their desks on various duties, most of them are probably in Observation One - he hadn't paid particular attention - but they can take their times coming back!

x

"Hi, Timmy," she says, probably not aware that he's wondering what his chances are of getting up and kissing her. Probably better not risk it here; he'll kiss her twice later. "I'm not disturbing you, am I?" she continues, apparently oblivious to his anticipation - or is she?

"No! No, I'm just surprised to see you here." He smiles a secret joke. "Isn't this your RDO?"

"And when do _I_ get days off, regular or otherwise?" He shrugs. "Actually, I came out to see you."

"Well, that's very flattering." He wonders, however, what can't be accomplished with a phone call, not that he cares - seeing Shav is a particular highlight, whatever the reason.

The red haired woman's brogue is notably sharp, however, allowing him to hear tension that she won't let reach her face. The emerald eyes behind her gold framed glasses also display none of the stress her voice betrays.

He knows no one else would read it. It's only through his intense NCIS Special Agent training – coupled with over fifteen years of intimate friendship – that allows him the insight. "No, you never disturb me. Don't be silly." He'd carefully glanced about to confirm they're alone before adding the admonition.

She looks around as well, her body language showing her own desire for privacy. Not everyone knows the unhidden fact that they're dating, but she still prefers a degree of discretion here. "I came hoping to ask you a favor."

"You have it."

She smiles. "You haven't even heard it yet."

"When do I ever turn you down?"

"Thank you, a chuisle," she says gratefully, the endearment coming out 'a kwìsh-la' in her brogue. "I knew I could count on you."

She starts away and is halfway past DiNozzo's desk when

"Shav?" She turns around. "What did I just agree to?"

She grins, coming back. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to teach you a lesson. You know us Priests," she says disarmingly, "we're always coming to people to get them to do something to help those less fortunate than themselves, people in real need. I have to admit, I wish everyone were as generous and giving as you are."

x

He senses impending doom, and she's ladling it on thick. "And what am I so generously giving?" But then he reconsiders. This is Shav; she may ask, but he knows she'll never ask more than he can give.

"Nothing."

"I can afford that."

"Nothing but a few hours of your time, this evening and tomorrow evening, to help some young people who truly need you."

"Young people?" He's suddenly not sure if he should be apprehensive after all.

"They need your training, expertise and the superlative skills for which you are justly famous."

He drops his voice. "Shav?"

She's equally covert, leaning closer to assure privacy. "Yes?"

"Do Priests often get taken over knees for some much needed correction?"

x

She straightens. "Keep your lusty fantasies to yourself! I am a respected, virginal woman."

Her prim voice was just loud enough for his heart to leap against his sternum in an effort to escape. He looks around, not sure if he should be afraid or just apprehensive, but no one is close and he realizes she's pitched her voice just below where it could carry into the next bullpen beyond Gibbs' and Ziva's desks.

He drops his own voice considerably further. "Respected, yes. Virginal? I think you were sixteen the first time we–"

"_Hush_!" Eyes wide, she tries to look everywhere at once. This time it's _she _who must be afraid. "An old flame is a trial indeed." But then she sees he's grinning and she sobers. "Seriously, Timmy, I really _do _need your help."

"Like I said, you've got it. But what is it?"

"We're running a program at St. Mary's, a two evening self-defense course and the Instructor – well, there's been a cancellation."

"Two day?"

"It's an introduction, all we can manage. Those who want more we can refer to schools."

"Well, can't you reschedule?"

"_No_. The Hall is booked for most of the month. We rent out to as many Community groups as we can to make ends meet. It's so expensive running a parish as large as ours and–" she halts at his upraised hand.

"I know. I forgot. But if it's self-defense, someone like Gibbs is your man."

"Timmy," she appeals, apparently thinking she's not getting through to him, "this isn't an advanced course. I want these people to learn they can do things to take care of themselves. They need to develop the confidence that they can protect themselves if they get attacked. I want them to learn how to defend themselves, not put people in the hospital or the grave. This is just a few simple, basic things."

He nods, holding back his smile. "So you needed simple and basic and immediately thought of me." She sighs, her shoulders dropping hard. He doesn't mind the view but won't say it.

"Timmy, please don't make me beg."

"I like it when you beg."

"I'm begging."

x

He shakes his head, smiling ruefully, knowing that there's no way out. When will he _ever _turn her down? Never, that's when.

"All right, what time?"

"Class starts at seven, or nineteen hundred to all you Enkissers."

It's harder to hide this smile. "Fine," he says, stone-faced. "But not 'you' Enkissers, you're Enkiss too," he tells her, using her own version she'd started purposely to flummox him months ago.

"Always," she grins, her eyes making it very clear it's not those four letters on her mind.

She takes a step and he can see she is about to show her gratitude with a hug or kiss, but stops. Though people know they're dating, a public display is inappropriate to either of their positions. "Thank you, a chuisle. I'll see you this evening."

"Until then." They can get away with a pursing of lips, a silent, secret kiss; then she must be gone. He returns to his work, his mind on the evening.

Young people. What can he impart to these young men in two evenings? Gibbs is the man for this. He thinks back to his own Unarmed Defensive Courses during his early training as an Agent, picking out some of the best techniques to teach Probies who know little of formal fighting skills.

That may not be appropriate either, he decides. It wasn't strictly Marine training, but a Federal Agent still learns how to put someone down so they won't get up easily or soon.

Part of him wishes she'd asked Gibbs, but she's right. He can teach them how to fight, but a Marine's focus is taking down one's enemy so he doesn't _ever _get up again; not the best skills to be imparting to young people.

Suddenly he realizes he'd forgotten to ask one very important question and snatches up his phone, rapidly punches in her cell code. After a few seconds beeping: /Mother O'Mallory./

"How young is young?"

He can virtually hear her grin even before she says coyly /Depends on what you have in mind./

"_Shav_."

/Re_lax_, Timmy,/ she's giggling at him, /they're between 17 and 19./

"Okay, I'll do it. See you at seven."

He kisses the receiver, her response telling him she was at least far enough away from any witness. He hangs up, hoping Al-Qaeda will keep quiet long enough for him to keep his promise.

Clocking out at a regular time is more a miss than a hit at NCIS, but the current case is winding down – and he remembers he'd better get back on it and spend less time thinking about the lovely Siobhan O'Mallory before Gibbs asks where the money is.


	2. Class Begins

Chapter Two  
Class Begins

When McGee parks his car in the lot behind St. Mary the Virgin Church and crosses to the Rectory door, he rings the bell and has to wait only a few seconds. He'd changed before leaving work and now wears a set of grey sweat clothes with large blue NCIS lettering emblazoned across his chest. When the door opens Tim laughs, seeing Siobhan clad in identical clothes.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing. It's just that we look like, er, that is..." Those sweats really do look _very _good on her.

"Like what?" She knows him well enough to know why he'd second guessed himself. "Like two Agents?" It hadn't really been the effect she'd striven for, but if this will make him more comfortable she'll go for it - for now.

"Er, yeah."

"And you call _me _a terrible liar."

"Well, you are." He knows how badly he's failed, however. He'd started to say 'a married couple' but to cover his gaff he looks her over even more closely, almost blatantly in fact. Where his clothes are comfortably loose, he imagines hers could be sprayed on, but he'd love to have taken a brush – a tiny, single haired brush – to paint in those letters. "You look _really _good. I've never met anyone who could make that outfit look so _sexy_."

"You do."

The compliment undermines his poise, again. The look in her green eyes does it even more so. "Er, thanks."

"You're very welcome." But then her smile falters. "You're looking at me like you want to go three or four falls with me right now." But then she grins at his flummoxed expression, intending to leave him very uncertain if she'd put up a fight if he _did _grab her and do what his eyes had shouted.

She'd purchased workout clothes some months ago in the Headquarters store for keeping in shape in the gym after duty hours on Tuesdays; but after they'd started dating she'd bought this second set and now has them in two sizes – designated in her own mind 'workout' and 'Timmy'.

"Everyone's in the Hall, warming up," she says, switching from a sexy to an all-business manner so quickly she hopes he can't keep up as she lets him into the foyer and closes the rear door behind him. "We'll be ready whenever you are."

"The sooner the better." 'The sooner it'll be over,' he finishes secretly.

x

He follows her, quite content to follow - 'What size _are _those sweats? They _can't _be the correct size!' - through the Rectory and down the corridor past offices, Sacristy and Vesting rooms and through the far door into Hamilton Hall.

There, assembled on thickly padded gym mats laid upon the floor to form a 20 by 30 area, Tim meets his class. Actually, he stops dead at the door upon first glimpse of them.

There are eight; he'd already been told they range from 17 to 19 and they're already warmed up. Their attire, unlike his and Shav's, spans a rainbow of color but consists of sports bras and tight gym shorts outlining curvaceous hips.

"Uhhh, Shav?" he says very quietly, not moving lips or a muscle of his face, "could I have a word with you?"

x

Rather than withdrawing back into the corridor, she turns to face him. Past her shoulder he can see activity on the mat has stopped as the girls look on.

"Yes, Timmy?"

"They're _girls_!" He barely keeps this whisper from carrying far past her.

She glances back, flashing an assuring smile to convey that the class will begin straight away. The look she gives Tim when she turns back communicates her question better than words, but her tone is casual and her words don't carry. "Yes, they are. Women, actually."

"Okay, women," he doesn't want this to deviate into a PC issue. "You didn't say they were _women_!" He can barely keep his voice from carrying past her.

"Is that a problem?"

"_YES_!"

"I asked you to help teach some young people who need to learn to protect themselves in dangerous situations. I don't feel anatomy has anything to do with it."

"Well, it–!" Looking past her to the young women's faces - a lot of them are really very, _very _attractive - he can't say it does and hope not to sound like a hypocrite. It's true he'd spent the afternoon thinking in terms of street fighting among young men and few of the techniques he'd planned apply now, but that's not the issue. "All right, I'll do it. Somehow. But no more surprises!" He starts to step past her.

"I can't promise that."

He halts, but doesn't answer her. His reply isn't one meant to be overheard, and he hopes none of the girls can read lips even if he dared say it here. But he feels very close to an answer to the question he'd asked the priest earlier today.

x

He's left to follow her into the hall, wondering if he'd prefer to face a furious Gibbs instead. Looking at these very attractive ... young ... nubile ... ('Ho boy, where's Gibbs when I _need_ him?') girls waiting for him to teach them, he decides he would.

"I hope you're all warmed up for our Instructor," Siobhan says, her broad double entendre received with smiles that further undo his confidence. "He's about to do something special with each of you."

They grin in anticipation, spiced by their hostess' tone and Tim feels his heart burst out of his chest to go splat in a lump on the floor.

Just the thought of grappling with any of these scantily clad gir – young women – some of whom are at least 18 or 19 if he could only be sure _which _ones, makes him want to call the whole thing off, promise or no.

Safer - and preferable - is to walk up to Gibbs and slap him in the face. Then his death would be quick. Painful, but quick.

x

Thoughts of the required quarterly Sexual Harassment programs and green-yellow-red light behavior tear at him further. 'If anyone finds out about tonight - what am I thinking? Of _course _they're going to find out!'

All it will take is Tony DiNozzo and three spare minutes for all of Operations to know everything.

It's more than just coming up for Review, more than the Gibbs-whacking he'll get for getting himself into this compromising situation, it's–

It's...

They're _girls_!

x

"As I told you," Siobhan continues, oblivious to his inner self-assault, "we were scheduled to be taught by Joan Zizmor, but there's been a cancellation. But I'd like to present Special Agent Timothy McGee of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service who has very kindly offered to step in to help. So, ladies, I leave you in his …" she looks meaningfully at him, actually gives him an 'elevator inspection' in front of these young women, "… _very _capable hands."

There are giggles mingled with the applause. He wants the ground under these mats to open up and the lava pools to consume him.

'Gibbs, _please _come out here so I can slap you...'

x

"Thank you, Reverend O'Mallory." He doesn't know how much formality he should use, so in an effort to hide his discomfort he uses it all. That they're dating may be a non-secret - (in these outfits if _someone _doesn't get a clue…) - but that doesn't necessarily mean everyone knows it - and these women aren't _going _to know it! He doesn't even know how many of these gir – young women – are even parishioners or ….

He shoves these chaotic thoughts aside as hard as he can, steps forward onto the middle of the mats, knowing that Siobhan, whose known him for almost two decades, can see that his 'stage confidence' is the sheerest acting.

x

The girls - women - sit on the west edge of the mat at Siobhan's direction, lined up before him, while she stands off near the northern edge of the 20 by 30 foot rectangle to his right, just enough to be in sight but unobtrusive.

"Well, ladies, before we get started I have to make a confession."

"Uh oh," one of them says, eliciting a spattering of laughter.

"Not to her," he assures them, glancing at his old friend's 'extra innocent' expression. He has plans for what he will say to _her_later and they don't involve confession - except perhaps for some of his less guarded thoughts. "To you. When I came here it was with the expectation that I was going to be teaching combat techniques to young men."

"Why would you think that?" an Asian girl – young _woman_ – asks, her tone mystified.

"Well, er, just that the conversation I had with Rev – well, I structured things based on fighting his way against a larger and stronger opponent."

"Women _always_ have to deal with 'opponents' who are bigger and stronger," a Latina woman points out.

"Er, yes, true." At six one he's the tallest in the room. Siobhan's five and ten hadn't even been a particularly notable issue – until now.

"Why would you think you're teaching _men__," _a black woman asks, "when this is a course on 'Preventing Date Rape'?"

"D-d-d-d-d-d," he turns to O'Mallory, swallowing the word very hard. It cuts his throat going down. "Reverend, may I have _another_ word with … oh, _never mind_." He turns back. "Okay, ladies, it seems we had a communications error but I'll deal with that later. All right, day – date ray – r - rape. Okay. Let's _see_. Okay. Yes. Date r - r - rape. Okay, I have a few ideas."

"I'll bet you do," Siobhan says sotto vocé, sparking even more laughter. It completely derails him. Again. And he'd just gotten the train righted.

He'd forgotten, in their close and casual relationship, how devastating her humor can be, especially when she feels someone needs to be taken down a peg or two. Why she's doing it to him, _now_, is something he'll discuss with her _later_.

Right now he only wants to know which particularly odious sin he's guilty of that has led him to this, but he can't think of anything thing that bad.

Perhaps she has a different viewpoint?

x

"All _right_, can I get a volunteer?" He prays the answer will be 'no'. The girls – young women – look among themselves and a tall blonde gi – young woman – steps forward, coming up beside him on the collected mats. Tim is very relieved it is not the taller one, the one with the large … qualities.

"Okay, girls," Siobhan speaks up from the north edge, "before we begin, I have it on good authority that Special Agent McGee has hopes of raising a family someday, so take it easy on him."

The laughter disperses any lingering tension among the women – and gives it all to McGee.

x

"Well, let's see. Ah, yes. One thing to keep in mind in a dating situation, if it feels like it's going to get out of control, is that if you maintain a confident, strong manner you have a first, important measure of control. You want to make it clear you are in command, particularly of your own body." He turns to the blonde woman. "Can you do this?"

"DON'T YOU TOUCH MY PUSSY!" her strident command makes him back away quickly a few steps right off the north edge of the mat to a wave of giggles.

Hand to his chest, he takes a deep breath and lets it out sharply, glancing at Shav beside him. She's not smiling but only because her lips are very tightly pursed. Behind her gold framed glasses, however, her emerald eyes sparkle with silent hilarity.

"That's not bad," he says, stepping back onto the mat. "_Explosive_, but not bad. I think you've got the basics of that down." He steps back to her, hoping it's safe to do so. "But what I had in mind, for a start, is something a little less explosive."

"All right."

He gestures toward where she'd been seated at the west edge of the huge rectangle of mats and she resumes her place.

x

"Now, most situations follow a progression," he says, establishing a place on the mat and determined not to leave it again. "They start slowly, and if the guy gets the sense that you don't mind, or are _willing_, it goes up a bit more. You want to establish a boundary at the first sign, a limit beyond which you don't want to go. Now," he surveys the other girls, choosing the one who won't meet his eyes, "you, miss, would you come up please?"

"Me?" Her voice is tiny, as though she's hoping he meant someone else.

"Yes. I promise it won't hurt a bit." One of the others gives her an encouraging push and she rises, steps forward. She's the height of Ducky's new Assistant, about five two. For an instant he thinks of having Samantha Sky in this class and recoils fearfully from the thought. "Thank you. Now…?"

"Judy."

"Judy, you don't want me to touch you."

She looks high up to him, her tiny "I don't?" prompting giggles from the others.

"No, you don't." Then, pushing back his own apprehension, he turns her toward the others and puts his arm about her shoulders, his hand coming down near but not touching her breast. In fact, he makes it very clear his hand is far away from that spot. Quite definitely far away. From all possible angles.

But if he's uncomfortable, she is more so. She cringes, her "please don't touch me" barely a whisper that telegraphs her fear.

"That won't convince me." Her plea is a little louder. "Listen; remember what I said about dating situations being a progression. You have to establish your position right from the start and here's how to do it. Now, if you try to fight his arm, you'll lose; he's stronger than you are and has the advantage, but not completely. Everyone has weaknesses and one of them is right here," he lifts his pinky. "The pinky is the weakest finger and if you take hold of it with your hand – _gently, no breaking_ – and just lift, his hand will come right off."

She follows his direction, lifting his hand away from her.

"At the same time, tell him 'no' in a firm, clear voice." She tries it. "What?" She says it again. "How's that?" A bit louder. "_I can't hear you_!" Her final try is as sharp and firm as he'd wanted.

"Better. Let's try it again." He puts his arm about her, she immediately grabs his pinky and lifts his hand away, at the same time making her intent very clear. "Excellent. Thank you."

She returns to the group, grinning proudly that she was able to establish her will against so mountainous a man.

"Now remember, this can hurt a lot, and presumably if you're dating him you don't want to hurt him. You can break his finger with too much force so always moderate your force to the situation. If he respects you from the start then you've won, but don't jump right into conflict unless you have to."

x

He chooses a tall girl with short pale blonde, almost white hair. "Now, would _you _come up please? Thank you. What's your name?"

"Sylvetka," she says, her accent strong.

"Sylvetka, there's another way to do this, still using the weakness of the small finger rather than the strength of the hand. You close my finger over between your thumb and forefinger. That's it, squeeze against the nail against the finger's first joint, now press it inward – _careful, I need that_! Now move my hand away while holding my finger." Her refusal to be touched is clear and sharp.


	3. Expecting the Classic

Chapter Three  
Expecting the Classic

"Agent McGee?"

"Yes?" he asks, turning to a reed thin brunette seated at the edge of the mat, his tone rising, seeking.

"Mary. What if, well, what if you like the guy, and you've _already_ gone to a certain point - or further - in the, well, but tonight - I mean this time - you don't want to go all the way?"

"You can _always_ set limits, at any time. Just because you're into 'heavy petting' or have - well, done it in the past, doesn't mean you have to do it this time. What I'm going to teach you tonight will be appropriate to a wide range of situations, you use your judgment as to how much force is _necessary_.

"Come on up and I'll show you something."

"Be _good_, Agent McGee," Siobhan admonishes from the north edge of the mat.

"Always." But he has to admit she was right; Mary had looked up at him fearfully at his invitation, but the laugh that cuts through the gathering eases her anxiety. When she's beside him, he turns her toward him so the other young women seated at the western edge of the mats are to her left.

"You know how it is when a guy just comes up and puts his hand on you like he owns you?"

"Oh, yeah!"

Tim reaches out, puts his right hand on her left shoulder. "Like this. What would you do?" With her left hand she reaches up, grabs his forearm and tries to pry his hand up. "No, you're fighting his stronger muscles. Remember, you want to use _your _strength against _his_ weaknesses. Use your right hand on the back of mine, put your four fingers around the pinky side of my hand… now press your thumb into the middle of the back of my hand and twist." She twists his hand off her shoulder and pushes it far from her. "Always remember, go against the pinky side of his hand, not the thumb side." He takes her shoulder again. "Try it the other way." She uses her left hand, her fingers wrapping past his thumb and, struggle though she does, she can't budge his hand. "You see? I'm actually stronger this way, you're fighting my stronger muscles, but done the _other _way," she switches hands again, "you're the stronger one. Thank you."

x

"What about pressure points?" one of the others, a voluptuous woman with cocoa complexion, asks, then comes up at his gesture. "Hi, I'm Brenda."

"Hi, Brenda. Yes, there are pressure points and there are quite a few of them. Pressure to any of them hurts and can immobilize. Here's one, midway up the forearm on the thumb side, right over the radius. A good squeeze of the thumb on that spot – _Ah! A little less_."

"Sorry."

"Now that you know about pressure points, FORGET them! They're called 'points' for a reason; you either hit it right the first time or you don't at all. An expert might but you're not an expert. Here, try again." He reaches for her, she grabs his forearm and tries to position her thumb on the right spot; he turns his arm, she tries again and he twists his arm around to break her grip, grabs her shoulders, steps past and around her and pushes her back, trips her over his leg and eases her backward down onto the mat. "Like I said, forget them." He assists her to stand.

x

"How about if you've tried all those things and you really, really just have to _hit_ him?" a lithe blonde with very long hair almost to the mat asks.

"Well, I was going to go into that in part two, but as long as you asked, come on up. What's your name?"

"Lucy," she says, standing up.

"Well, Lucy," he positions her so the observers are to her right side and takes a step back, holds up his left hand braced by his right, "hit me. _Stop_!" he commands the instant her fist touches his palm, then comes around the frozen woman so the others can see him past her hand. Her hand has tilted upward so the first joints of her fingers are forward. "Look at the line of your fist; you swung right but then you tilted when you hit me. You want it to be a perfectly straight line from here," he touches her outer elbow bone, "to here," he finishes, drawing his finger up to touch her knuckles.

"The way you hit me, your fist curled back and you're going to sprain yourself. Let me show you a better way." He opens her hand and bends it back, allowing her fingers to curl over. Now her hand is pointed upward almost perpendicular to the line of her forearm. "You thrust directly along this line, again from elbow to hand, but you're hitting now with the strong part of the base of your palm. That allows less risk to you and you can hit with far more force.

"Your target," he draws her hand to the base of his nose, "is right here, or under the chin but this is by far the better one. Hit him here and it's going to give him a bloody nose, but you're not done yet."

"I'm not?"

"No, you're not. That's because if it's gotten to the point where you have to hit, you want to do more than give him a bloody nose. See where your fingers are curled over like claws? Bring your hand forward as soon as you hit, then rake them down his face, like this." He controls her hand so the attack is only a touch.

"If he wears glasses it's even better, because you're going to rip them right off his face. That does two things. Not only is he going to get plenty scratched up by your sharp nails, and maybe you've blinded him if there's glasses involved - but now under your nails you've got small bits of his skin, which means his DNA. We Investigators _like_ DNA, it lets us know who we're looking for and tells us a story even if, God forbid, you can't. Thank you."

x

When Lucy returns, somewhat shaken by the implications of this, he addresses the group. "If it's gotten to this point, scratch, bite, do _anything _you can to mark him up _and_ get as much forensic evidence as you possibly can. I know one case that was solved because the young lady in a car bent over the window and _bit _the rubber molding, leaving her dental impressions in the rubber as proof she'd been in the car. _That_ bite decided the case when no one believed her."

x

"What about a good knee to the crotch?" a tall, big breasted woman, the one he'd been afraid to deal with, asks while looking toward Siobhan standing at the north side of the huge rectangle.

"Yes, you're thinking about that famous 'battle' with Charlie Morley this past summer." All heads nod. "She got _lucky_. Forget it. If you're going to count on that, then one, you've already upped the level of violence to the max and two - it won't work."

"Come on!"

"Do it."

"_What_?"

"Come up here and knock your knee into my crotch."

She comes only two feet forward. "You're sure this is what you want?"

"I'm sure."

She walks up to him and does try; he slaps the outer side of her knee with his hand which spins her off balance, he grabs her shoulders as she turns and eases her down to the mat. "It works as a surprise, but he's going to expect that classic." He helps her up again.

"There's an even worse one – worse for you, that is. Try to use your right knee into my crotch again." She does, determined to be faster. He brings up his left knee across his body so her knee collides with his outer thigh, he immediately twists on his right foot, his leg thrusting hers aside so she's off balance, her legs spread widely and his leg snaps out, his foot halts an inch from her crotch.

Every woman in the room winces in sympathetic pain.

"Like I said, don't do it. You _know_ where it'll leave you. This is better: grab my shoulders, take one step to the side past me and put your foot behind mine like I did with Brenda." She does so. "Now _shove_."

She does as directed and though it's an awkward move he goes down, rolls out of the fall and back up to his feet. "I was expecting that, he probably won't be able to roll out. But while he's down, what do you do next?"

"Run?"

"Right! You break the Olympic sprinting record getting out of there."

x

When she returns to the others, he notices one black girl has a very sour expression. "Yes?"

Caught at it, she's not hesitant about speaking her mind. "You've taught us a lot about the mild stuff, but for us it doesn't _get_ mild. I was _raped _and I couldn't have done any of that. First thing _I _knew was when this guy's arms were around me and he was grabbing my tits and getting me down!"

"Fair enough. I'm going to be getting into some combination things soon but there are many methods if you really need to fight."

"Ooooh," Siobhan calls from the north edge. "May I?"

He looks dubiously at her - grappling with her was never in his plans - but if he's going to demonstrate some serious stuff he doesn't want to do it with any of these others. "Come on."

Stepping onto the mats, she addresses their seated guests. "Despite my being a dedicated pacifist, Special Agent McGee has me in his 'advanced class'." She waves a hand over the figure hugging grey sweats with the large blue NCIS blazoned across her chest. "You see, these aren't a 'gift' from Agent McGee," giggles from many of the girls at the implication from how closely the clothes hug her, "I actually _do _work for NCIS and, after what happened this summer, he's made sure I start learning what I need to protect myself. Now Alyiah, what happened to you?"

"Guy come up behind me, put his right arm around and grab my left tit."

Siobhan turns left, her back to McGee. "Go ahead, Agent McGee." When he doesn't move, she looks back over her shoulder. "Come on, you _know _you've always wanted to."

Explosive giggles almost make him call this off, but he finally does step behind her. "Just remember, Mother O'Mallory - I'm _not _Charlie Morley."

"Like I said earlier, Special Agent McGee, 'no promises'."

More delighted laughter increases his discomfort, but he finally does put his right arm around her, his cupped fingers a good eight inches in front of her breast.

x

She looks back over her left shoulder, her smile taking in the line of women. "That the _breast _you can do?" He moves his hand another two inches further away. "Girls, we really _have _to teach him how it's done." More giggles. "Well, Agent McGee, you had your chance."

Her left hand comes down over and around his right, her thumb on the back of his hand and she twists his palm away and rams her right elbow into his ribs, holding and softening the blow at the last instant before impact. Still holding his hand far off, she takes a half step left and brings her elbow back again, simulating a harder blow to his abdomen. Her fist snaps up to his nose. Turning further, still not releasing his twisted right hand, she brings her right arm back and 'slams' her forearm into the side of his neck, following through with the back of her fist into his cheek.

Releasing his right hand, she turns toward him, brings the heel of her left hand up 'hard' under his nose and rips her nails down his face. Bringing her right hand back, she folds her fingers over to her upper palm, back of her hand straight from wrist to knuckles and rams those knuckles into his throat. Her nails then by his right ear, she rakes them horizontally across his face, reverses with her left hand to give him matching marks on his other side, actually still barely touching him. Then, as the eight women cry out in horror, hands covering mouths, she digs the nails of both clawed hands into his eyes and then rakes them down his cheeks.

Her left hand grips the waistband of his sweats and she braces with her right foot and with her left foot she kicks the side of his right knee, immediately brings the side of her foot down along his shin to stomp into his instep.

Still holding his waistband, she steps back on her left foot and brings her right knee up in a devastating impact into his crotch. She releases him when he bends over, takes a half step back, grabs his hair and rams her knee up into his face.

He's 'knocked' off his feet, slaps the mat in time to avoid much of the force of his 'impact' as Siobhan runs off the mats.

x

Wild applause and cheers greet this demonstration as Siobhan returns - but these fade quickly with the realization that McGee isn't moving.

"Agent McGee?" she calls, mounting apprehension bringing her to him. She'd pulled all her punches - _hadn't _she? "Tim?"

The others join her as, apprehension turning rapidly to fear, she crouches down beside him. "_Timmy_?" She'd pulled everything, but in the end did she overdo it? "Timmy - wake up!" Deeply frightened, she falls to her knees and shakes him. "_TIMMY_?" She looks back to the knot of women crouched behind her. "Someone call 9-1–"

He grabs her just above the blue letters of her shirt, pulls her over him, her cry sharp as she's twisted over his body, lands on her back on the mat and he's straddling her, still clutching her shirt.

"One hundred for technique," he bends close and kisses the tip of her nose, "but minus five millionfor coming _back_."

Releasing her, he gets up, helps her to her feet and she tugs her shirt back down.

"Now," he addresses his 'students', not for anything willing to admit this hadn't all been planned and not yet wanting to decipher the look she gave him – for she'd by no means been annoyed, "before we go any further, I'd like you all up on the mats, pair off and practice what we've covered so far."

x

He walks among the women, working for some time with each pair, correcting and advising. Eventually he winds up on the north edge of the mat with Siobhan.

"Thank you," she says softly.

"Don't mention it," he answers as quietly.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He smiles. "You were perfect, especially that end."

She smiles ruefully. In the real world 'that end' could have been her tragic mistake. "Don't scare me next time."

"Like you said, 'no promises'." Their brief hand clasp, down by their sides, goes unnoticed, hidden by their bodies.

"Still wish they were men?"

He considers the question. He'd been uncomfortable about even touching any of these g– women, let alone getting into such issues as date rape, but "No. No, this is very important. This … is important."

"I thought so."

He's uncertain that he catches all her meaning. She frequently says more than one thing at a time, but this time it feels more cryptic than usual. "Come on, time for the next lesson."


	4. I've Seen Things

Chapter Four  
I've Seen Things

It's 9:13 Tuesday morning when Tim's cell phone rings, the message very brief. Leaving the bullpen, he takes the elevator up a level and down the corridor to the 4th floor Chaplain's office.

When he opens the door she stands up from her desk across the small room. There's little in this room but her desk and chair, a couch to his right and some filing cabinets to his left. She keeps furnishings sparse to show to visitors her focus is on them.

"I just wanted to thank you again for last night, and for this evening." She's back in her 'professional attire', no more sweats until tonight, not that she doesn't look great to him in anything she wears.

"You're welcome. I'll be there for seven, Gibbs willing."

"_God _willing," she corrects firmly. "I forgot to mention yesterday," she glances at the book on her desk, then back to him, "we allocated $400 for these two nights, if–"

He waves it off. "Donate it to wherever it's needed. As I said, this has all been very enlightening. I _even_ have an answer to my question I asked you downstairs yesterday, about if even Priests get taken over knees for some much needed correction."

"Why Timmy, whatever do you mean?" She asks, adjusting her glasses, unable to look as innocent as she would sound.

"You said yesterday, to me, to them, that 'there'd been a cancelation', so you did tell the literal truth. But Joan Zizmor didn't cancel her appointment. _Y__ou_ did."

She shakes her head. "Never try to fool an investigator."

"We're trained to pick up not just on what's said but how - though I have to admit it didn't hit me until last night. I blame that workout suit you wore." She grins; they both know that was only part of what overloaded his mind last evening. "The only thing I don't understand is: Why?"

x

She takes a deep breath, considering her words. He's sure she's done it several times already. "Timmy, I've seen things. I know you needed this course as badly as those women do. Agent DiNozzo may see women only as sexual conquests, as prey, but you see them with an apprehension that borders on timidity. I don't mean you're afraid of women, but you don't know how to deal with them.

"I blame this current Sexual Harassment atmosphere," she continues, annoyance creeping into her tone. "The lawsuits that turn common decency into something enforced and legislated, these damned courses that you and I and everyone else has to take and pass every single year between then and forever - did you know George and I have to take the same three courses each and every year or the church loses its Insurance? But that's neither here nor there; the fact is _you _needed last night. You were so concerned about crossing some boundary you couldn't even _touch_ them. You blushed – would you like to know how many times you blushed?"

"No."

"It was a lot."

"I believe you."

x

She steps closer, her hands on his arms. "You needed to learn how to be comfortable being close to women, to interacting with them. Not like with me, or Abby or Ziva or Michelle, just … women."

"I suppose you're right."

"Mad at me?" He turns, goes back to the door and locks it. "Timmy?"

He comes back to her and she's not sure what to do. "No, I'm not mad. Manipulated, but not mad. I understand your motives, and helping is important."

Hand on her chest, she heaves a relieved sigh. "I was afraid you'd be mad."

"Oh, I'm not mad. I just think we should rehearse for tonight."

She cries out, surprised as he grabs her shoulders, steps past, trips her and eases her down onto the couch. He pushes her legs up and then sits on the edge of the couch so his hips trap hers. She tries to sit up but his hands go back to her shoulders, trapping her. But despite her vulnerable position, he looming over her, she's not afraid.

"So," she says, "you've decided to take me over your knees after all?" She's not entirely certain how she'll feel about the reality - he's never hit her - but she thinks that maybe, with him, she might - _some_day - allow herself to find out.

"Perhaps." He leans forward, their arms go about one another and their lips meet. After many seconds he pulls back an inch. "Maybe ... if you're ever a bad girl ... we'll work up to that."

Fin.


End file.
